


An Even Match

by Boomchick



Series: Tumblr Prompts [3]
Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24556111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boomchick/pseuds/Boomchick
Summary: Twoshot prompt fill from TumblrSephiroth finds himself fixated on Elfe and the flashing power of her blade. It has been a long time since someone matched him blow for blow.
Relationships: Elfe/Sephiroth
Series: Tumblr Prompts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774831
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Third of a series of prompts written on Tumblr for those who are supporting the BLM movement. This one was requested by https://wandererriha.tumblr.com/ who asked “[How about] some Sephiroth/Elfe. We got like 5 people in this here rowboat. There’s room for more!"
> 
> If you've donated, protested, or otherwise supported black lives, you can come and make a request too! https://boomchickfanfiction.tumblr.com/

She does not care that he does not speak. Maybe that’s what connects them second. He knows what connects them first. Its the ring of Masamune against her katana. It is the speed of their movement. It is the force behind them both. The power singing through them. It is that they are unmatched. Have been unmatched.

Which is to say, have been alone. So the on the rooftop that night (both wounded only slightly, both evenly matched, both silent) when she lowered her nameless blade, he lowered his as well. They don’t do much that evening. They stand, and stare, and think. He paces slightly, sword still singing in his hand. She does not pace, but the wind on the rooftop tugs her cape as she holds her place and watches him.

He hears the helicopter before her, but not by much. She is vanishing over the edge of the roof before he can decide whether or not to warn her.

The derision he faces over ‘losing his mark’ means nothing to him. He did not lose her. It does not matter what the president thinks. He only stares back at Hojo’s snide questioning. He much preferred her company. Quiet on the rooftop. Not asking him why he was happy to be quiet with her and not fight.

They meet again. Violent collision of force and force. Opposed, but not opposites. The explosions of gunfire around them force them into a dance. It doesn’t matter whose bullets are whose. They all fly, indiscriminate, at their feet. Her fighters do not fear hitting her any more than his own fear hitting him. But she does. He sees her eyes flick to her troops. Sees her take in the danger to them. She cares, he thinks, and wonders if that should upset him.

Somehow it does, at little.

He drives her upwards. Slashes and chases and stabs. Goes on the offensive simply to remove her from her cares. Simply to get her away from the distraction. Eyes on me, he urged her with every clash of his blade against hers. Until there they are again, alone in the world. And this time he lowers his blade. She watches him a long time, blue eyes narrow, brown hair falling about her face. The distant light from the half-covered sun turns her eyes molten and bright.

She lowers her sword.

He does not pace this time. He is not a man who is shy about his wants. Who is fearful of his desires. He sets Masamune down and walks to her. And she meets him halfway, fearless.

There is materia in her arm. It flares as they kiss. Her hands are tight in his hair. Almost punishing. Her teeth are sharp and aggressive, and he rises to meet her. Part battle, part adoration, part exploration.

She breaks the kiss with a tense look in her eyes. Pats his chest, just once.

“I won’t let them die for my pleasure.” She says.

“I don’t suppose you get time off.” He replies, surprised at himself. At how light he feels.

“No,” She says, a tight smile on her face. “If you live, find me after we win.”

Something metal hits the ground, and he glances to his feet. Where the grenade has landed where she dropped it, pin pulled. Ah.

He dodges back to Masamune, and she breaks away the opposite direction. It takes time for him to pick himself up after the explosion. Avalanche gets away.

Maybe he’s a touch sour. Maybe he’s simply good at his job. But he dedicates himself to victory from that moment. After all. If he lived and she survived, perhaps she’d be the one to find him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Battling it out in Cosmo Canyon isn’t EVERYONE’S idea of a great second date, but here they are…

“We have received reliable intelligence that the leader of Avalanche is meeting with the radical sect that resides in Cosmo Canyon.” The president was saying, voice grim.

“I see.” Sephiroth said, careful to keep his voice flat. “We do not have an outpost there, if I am not mistaken?”

“We don’t need one.” The president said. “You’ll be going yourself. I expect your mission to be successful this time.”

“You’ve found my performance lacking?” Sephiroth asked, shifting, tilting his head down to regard the aging man before him with disdain.

“Twice you’ve run across this Elfe, and twice she’s escaped.” The president said, sneering back without flinching. “It would be safe to say that I’m unimpressed.”

Sephiroth chewed on that as e walked back to his room. Tried to decide if he cared. But what was it Hojo always said? yes. That perfection did not limit itself to the expectations of others.

Cosmo Canyon was hot. And dirty. He didn’t bother going all the way into town. He stood on a mesa nearby, black trench coat tugged by the wild wind, and waited.

He was aware of the existence of heat stroke in the same way he was aware of the existence of whales. He’d learned about it, observed it from afar, and otherwise had nothing to do with it. He was hot, certainly. But he did not overheat. He sweat, but not profusely. He only stood, and waited, his eyes on the distant town.

“You need different clothes.” A familiar voice said, speaking first from behind him. He didn’t startle. She was still far away. He’d have heard her come closer.

“These are more distinctive.” He said, turning towards her slowly, shifting his weight slowly, not bothering to rush or swoop or threaten.

“Sephiroth.” She greeted, seated on the edge of the mesa, with one foot dangling and one up on the ground, her elbow propped on her knee.

“Elfe.” Sephiroth nodded his return. “I’ve been sent to kill you.”

“Hm,” She said, standing and dusting herself off. “Maybe third time’s the charm?”

He burst forward, because he was bored and he could. She dashed forward to meet him, their swords clashing, sending splashes of scalding desert light dancing across the ground with their motion.

“You won’t win.” She said over their crossed swords.

“I’m not trying to.” Sephiroth purred in return, pressing against her blade.

He swung, neat and sharp, forcing her back with Masamune’s length.

“Where’s the fun in that?” She asked, her expression still empty but her eyes shining with challenge. “If you throw the match, I won’t win any money off this.”

“You’re betting on our fights?” Sephiroth asked.

“Make it look good.” She challenged.

So he leaned into it and let loose.

It was a dangerous thing to do. Usually he’d have murdered his sparring partner. A Soldier first might have been able to stand it for a while, but eventually they would have worn down. But not Elfe. No, she rose to the challenge. Shone with it. Flourished in opposition to it.

She sliced open his face. He slashed her right leg. They both froze in place, bleeding, staring. Sephiroth dragged in a breath, hot sun, dust, sweat, blood. Elfe.

“I want you.” He told her, serious and intense.

“You can’t have me.” She replied, eyes narrowed, challenge in her stance. In her stare. In her voice. “But if you’re offering to defect, I’ll accept.”

Sephiroth laughed. Eyes narrowed in pleasure. This insatiable creature…

“What will you tell your bosses when you fail once more to kill me?” Elfe asked.

“I’ll figure something out.” Sephiroth replied, chuckling.

Her mouth closed on his, and he surrendered to her. He could have won. Probably. But he didn’t want it to end.

He didn’t want to end her.

Perhaps, he thought, drawing her closer and feeling her hands pull at his hair with harsh insistence, he could simply behead a different brunette on the way home and claim that he’d simply mistaken. It would certainly be satisfying. To watch the president’s face contort in disgust at the bloody offering on his desk.

“Less thinking.” Elfe demanded, and Sephiroth was glad to oblige her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and for the request!  
> Please donate to https://atlsolidarity.org/ if you can to support my local BLM movement!
> 
> For more of this story, please visit the requester Wandererriha, who's now written a continuation! https://wandererriha.tumblr.com/post/620012072294662144/deserter


End file.
